


The Things I've Done

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [29]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: Best Served Cold, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Fenris, Return Of the Sub-Plot, Spirit Healer Hawke, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14401878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Fenris and Azzan grow accustomed to their relationship while trying to prepare for the stalker’s test.





	The Things I've Done

This was the second time he’d woken up to the feeling of happiness and security that he floated within now. He felt the warmth of Azzan’s breath on his collarbone, the heat of his arms around his back. The curl of one leg as it wrapped around his own.

This was what it was like to feel like one was _home._

He nuzzled the top of Azzan’s head, letting his nose and lips get lost in the tangle of hair. He felt warm. Azzan’s blankets covered them both, soft against his bare skin. His fingers carded through the hair spread out around the pillow behind Azzan’s head. Azzan stretched in his arms for a moment before resting his cheek on Fenris’ chest.

Last night, they’d had faster, heavier sex than the time before, yet it hadn’t felt like anything other than that ephemeral term _making love_. Sex with Azzan always felt like that. Like he was being cleansed.

He’d wanted to watch Azzan fall apart. He’d wanted Azzan to stop fearing hurting Fenris and just _feel_. His shoulder still throbbed slightly, proof that he’d gotten close. It felt as if Azzan was so afraid of letting Danarius have a part of their moments that he inadvertently let him in. Fenris wasn’t afraid of that part of his past. As much as he loathed it, as much as he felt disgusting at the memories, he still felt – no, he _knew_ – that he had survived it. And he knew this space between them held no similarities to his time with Danarius.

Sex was something he’d had since the moment he’d been changed into _Fenris_. Love was something brand new.

He kissed the top of Azzan’s head. Knowing Azzan wanted Fenris happy and safe was enough. Knowing Azzan wanted Fenris free, that the fool would give both of his arms to ensure Fenris never felt forced or coerced ever again, made their time together nothing like it had been. If he told Azzan to stop, he would stop. He would back away, horrified at the very notion that he’d gone too quickly or done something unacceptable.

Azzan feared Danarius being in the room so much he forgot he was the one Fenris had chosen.

There was always no one in the room but them.

He’d wanted to see a morning where Azzan woke up slowly. He was graced with a number of hours to do just that. He’d never thought such time would drift so casually, without the drive to get up and start the day. Even his impending loss of bladder control couldn’t make him move.

Apparently, Azzan was a snuggler. Despite how much he attempted not to hold on too tight when awake, in his sleep, his fingers curled into Fenris’ skin, his arms refused to let go of him. Whenever Fenris shifted to get comfortable, Azzan would arc his back to get closer and grumble slightly under his breath. It was… adorable.

He’d made his decision to move in with Azzan the instant it had become apparent that the man was in danger. To him, it had simply been an answer to a problem. To Azzan… Fenris stretched his spine, only to find himself trapped in the position. He ran one hand down to Azzan’s arms, gently caressing them until they loosened enough for him to get comfortable again.

For Azzan, any sign of reciprocation was something to celebrate. To Fenris, it almost looked like he’d never received any love at all. Which wasn’t true. He’d had a mother. Siblings. No. His hand paused as it made its way back to Azzan’s hair. It wasn’t as if he’d never had it. It was as if he’d had it and lost it. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

Hawke surrounded himself with so many disparate people. The elven woman, who was more obsessed with the past than the present. The ship captain who longed for her ship and a new port to sail toward. The Chantry brother busy pretending everyone’s lives can be bettered by prayer alone. The guardswoman more interested in the law than in the rights of her friends. And him, the one who had pushed Azzan away time and again. The only true friend was Varric, yet Azzan had held onto all of them.

How desperately had he wanted bonds?

He thought of the letter Isabela had given to him, so long ago now. He’d brought it with him. He hadn’t been able to let it go. The woman was wise sometimes, despite how she acted. She’d been right, of course. About everything.

Slowly, Hawke shifted a bit more often, hugged a bit tighter. Fenris watched as those eyes moved beneath their lids. Hawke smiled. Arched his back. Yawned. Those brows scrunched a moment before those beautiful blue eyes fluttered open. Fenris smiled down at Azzan as he blinked himself blearily awake. “Fenris.” Hawke leaned up, tilted his mouth awkwardly, and kissed him. His breath was stale, his attempt sloppy. Fenris tilted his head to meet those lips properly and took them for his own.

Azzan tasted sweet. Like summer as it broke past the edges of spring. Magic surged within this man like blood. With their bodies pressed so close together, Azzan couldn’t help but feed off of the lyrium in him. He felt it, now that he knew to pay attention. He also felt the moment when Azzan realized what he was doing; the feel of summer and sunshine decreased suddenly, as if someone was yanking it back. The aura, always so easily pulled out around Azzan, disappeared. The feel of its cool breeze disappeared along with it. The breathless pressure of Azzan’s lips and tongue pulled into something far more controlled.

This was why. This was the reason why Azzan always held himself back when they were together. His fear that Fenris would equate his magic for Danarius’ made him place invisible boundaries on himself. On _the both_ of them.

He underestimated Fenris.

He rolled over on top of Azzan. The man bore his weight well, despite being a mage. Considering how much he ran all up and down the entirety of Kirkwall and its neighboring landmarks, it wasn’t a surprise. Fenris placed his hands on Azzan’s shoulders and caged Azzan’s legs within his own. His reward was the sight of those deep blue irises getting swallowed into black. Azzan’s chest heaved. “Good morning,” Azzan said, and licked his lips. He smiled.

So distracting.

“Good morning.” It _was_ a good morning. Even though they would be facing some unknown test sent by the man Fenris was going to kill. Even though he’d agreed to some fool errand to prove to Azzan that they could handle whatever strength that mage contained. Even though Kirkwall was falling apart.

“Um.” Azzan looked Fenris up and down. “I really want to continue this, but I really have to go to the restroom?”

Fenris snorted. He had to go rather badly, himself. “All right.” He leaned up, letting his hands rove down over the planes of Azzan’s chest and stomach. Muscles quivered beneath his touch. He’d thought once that, now that he was able to touch, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Now he thought he might be getting addicted to it. And to the sounds Azzan made as he struggled to control himself.

He lifted himself off of Azzan and made his way to the man’s restroom. “You can have it after me,” he said, and grinned over his shoulder. Azzan barely managed to look up from Fenris’ ass in time to catch his smirk. He chuckled.

* * *

He’d thought it would be awkward, becoming a part of Hawke’s home. He should have known better. Hawke had paved the way for him already with Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana; the rest was taken care of simply by giving him space. There was no hovering, no clearing of his things so much as moving it all slightly to the side – space in the wardrobe in Hawke’s room, tables carefully cleared of work in case he wished to take them for himself. He’d found himself with room to spare for his meager belongings. A sword rack had even been added to the main room and the bedroom, for wherever he may wish to hang it up.

He’d barely scratched the surface. Orana came to him as Azzan looked over his letters and orders and asked what kinds of foods he liked. She pointed him to the back rooms, even though he’d been to them before. This time, however, he found one to have been straightened up and cleared of all items. It had a couple of his older weapons in it, as well, including a greataxe Azzan had once procured for him that he’d loved. He went over to touch it, then looked around again. Rock walls, hard, untiled flooring. No room had gone without tiles or wood before. Azzan had cleared the place out as a practice room. One in which the man wouldn’t have to constantly replace the tiles for.

Fenris covered his mouth. Slowly, he closed the door behind him.

The few days while Fenris had forced himself to clear out the old mansion and gather up his meager possessions, when he’d spent half the time wondering if this was something he was willing to do, Azzan had been busy doing this. Thinking Fenris wouldn’t want to move in, but making a space for him nonetheless.

In the six years that he had known Hawke, the one thing he’d never been able to ignore was just how willing Hawke was to help someone. A stranger, an enemy, a maniac, a friend. It didn’t matter. The man seemed to have some endless well from which he drew that allowed him to give and give and give. Fenris had rarely seen what it had cost him, until the night he’d seen Hawke break apart when his mother had died.

To him, Azzan’s back had always been so straight. So strong. The man had led them through fire and brimstone with the weight on that back never faltering. Until he’d allowed himself to lean on Fenris, just once. It had been as if the last load-bearing beam of a house had finally received support. The strain on it could only be seen once the weight had been lifted from it. Only then had Fenris been able to see that their load-bearing weight had been eroding for some time.

Every time Fenris had needed something, Hawke had been there. Every time he’d felt about to break apart, Hawke had held him aloft. Every time he’d needed to hit something, Hawke had taken the blow. Yet only twice had Hawke cried in front of him – that once, when his mother had died, when he’d told Fenris he was all alone. And then again, when Fenris had told him he wanted to be with him, and Hawke had said he’d feared Fenris never reciprocating his feelings.

Both times, Hawke hadn’t shown just how deeply his feelings had gone. How ingrained his despair and loneliness had become. He touched the walls of the room, let the rough texture rub across the pads of his fingers. Even when he’d told Hawke that he would be staying, the man had reacted as if expecting the worst.

How could he make it clear that he had no intention of going anywhere? Was it even appropriate to think about watching Azzan let go of his control when the man still felt like their relationship was on a deadline?

A knock came at the door, soft enough that he already knew who it was before they even spoke. “Master Fenris? Breakfast is ready.”

He winced at the title, but nodded. “I’m coming. Thank you, Orana. And I’m not a master.” He opened the door and came face-to-face with the young elf. He smiled. “I’m just Fenris. And I know Hawke would want you to simply call him Hawke, too.”

She nodded, bowing slightly. “Of course.”

He began following her out of the room, only to pause. “Orana.”

She turned to him. Her dress, white and yellow and oddly beautiful, swished lightly around her slight frame. “Yes?”

“Do you really think Hawke is your master?”

She cocked her head. “Of course.”

He winced. “Hawke… doesn’t treat you like a slave, though.”

“Like a slave?” She smiled. “He gives me money, tells me I am free. Buys me clothes.” She spread her hands to indicate the dress he’d noted earlier. The sleeves were three-quarters length and flowed softly as she moved her arms. The fabric didn’t look cheap. “He is a very kind-hearted master.”

He didn’t understand her way of thinking. “Hawke has told you he isn’t your master, hasn’t he?”

“He says not to call him one. He says that’s not how he does things. He’d been teaching me to read and write, and even math.”

His heart twisted. Hawke.

She put her hands together in front of her, pressed against the top of her skirt. “It’s good you came back.” Fenris’ brows shot up. “Master missed you. I could tell.”

He flushed.

Orana waited a beat, then accepted that the conversation was over and turned down the hall once more. A single step made the red on his wrist enter his eyesight, and he stared at it. When Hawke had first given him that false favor, he’d been bemused. Besotted. Somehow, the idea of ridding himself of it had made him grit his teeth.

And now?

He touched the cloth. It was soft, still, despite months, years, of wear. Hawke had called him irreplaceable. He’d thought the man ridiculously romantic. If it hadn’t been for the timing, he likely would have teased the man for it. Now, of course, he knew what it had truly meant. The closest Hawke had allowed himself to a confession.

There were many moments in the past six years that he was seeing with a different gaze now. Their first night together. The first time they met. The moment he asked Azzan to accompany him to meet his sister. Everything he remembered seemed off, somehow. As if he’d missed some vital clue all this time, and had fumbled in the dark for years.

Then there was the man still haunting Azzan’s every step. He thought of the test awaiting Azzan, the one that would ‘prove’ him worthy of the bastard. No matter what Hawke said, he knew the reason he was afraid. Even if Azzan wouldn’t admit it to himself, Fenris knew. He was afraid of what the stalker had alluded to. That moment when he’d been re-reading Isabela’s letter and had heard someone moving in the mansion. Whatever had happened, he hadn’t found it, nor seen any sign. Yet there had been people out to harm him, and the abomination had been there to stop it.

Azzan feared the abomination choosing to be Fenris’ enemy next. And not just his. Whether they gave back to Hawke or not, those other fools had all been taken under Hawke’s wings. If they got hurt or killed, Hawke would take it as proof of his own failure.

They arrived in the dining room. Hawke still stood, of course, and refused to sit until Fenris had pulled out his seat and made to sit. He eyed Hawke as the man turned to Orana, thanking her both for retrieving him and for making the food.

He looked happy. Even though he still tread so carefully around Fenris, he smiled easily. “Got some _food for thought_ , Fenris?”

He closed his eyes. Maker.

He covered his face and laughed. He couldn’t help it. This man was the best, worst, most incredible, most _frustrating_ thing he’d ever found in his life. When he lowered his hand, he was met with a happy grin. Of course this idiot loved his laugh. It made something warm burst in his chest. He let himself reach out across the table to grab Azzan’s hand. The grin altered, deepened. Softened. Azzan turned his palm up and gripped his hand right back.

“Hawke, your jokes are still atrocious.”

The grin returned. “ _Joke’s on you_ , then. I’m _jest_ getting started _clowning around._ ”

Maker, Hawke _was_ in a good mood if he was throwing that many puns around. Perhaps they could wait a day before going on Hawke’s mad venture? There were plenty of other ways to wile away their time.

He pulled his hand back to eat and caught sight of something white at the corner of the table. He tilted his head. More letters? His gaze narrowed on them. Were any from _him?_ Was Hawke about to find yet another threat written for him? His hands itched to grab the papers and rip them to shreds.

Hawke caught where he was looking and smiled softly. “They all have return addresses,” he said, his voice quiet. Fenris forced himself to calm. Hawke’s gaze landed on the envelopes, his shoulders too straight to be natural. How long had Hawke feared receiving his mail? How often did he have to gird himself before looking through them? Something other people took for granted. Every time Fenris thought about it, he grew furious all over again. Hawke had put up with this for _years_. It had to end.

Hawke didn’t need to take this bastard’s test. There was nothing he needed to prove.

Hawke fingered the top letter, neither picking it up nor leaving it alone. “I got a letter from Charade. It distracted me from reading the rest.” He grinned and leaned his elbows on the counter. “She says she’s checking through things, trying to find who this guy is. She thinks the templars have missed something.” He tapped the envelopes beside him with one finger. “She thinks we’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

Fenris tilted his head. “How so?”

“This person. He strangles his victims, then stabs them. Right? Because of that, and how good this person is at it, we thought they were non-mages who had somehow made a deal with a demon anyway. It’s not like we haven’t seen people do that before.”

Fenris barely managed to keep from ducking his head in shame. Yes, he knew very well now that those with no magical affinity could fall to the wiles of demons just as easily as mages.

Hawke didn’t seem to be implicating Fenris, however; he continued on with the sort of smile he reserved for when he knew he was getting close to the truth. A small, hard-edged smile, so polite it could cut. “She thinks the person is a mage – just one who’s been practicing blood magic for a very, very long time.”

Fenris frowned. The strangling made little sense, unless one thought about the person trying to subdue those they would steal blood from. Perhaps they’d wanted to simply knock someone unconscious, only to overdo it? Perhaps they’d found a taste for the feeling? He knew what it felt like to feel someone’s blood pumping beneath his fingertips. It was a heady sort of power. He’d felt it before crushing Danarius’ throat, and he had to admit to the thrill of knowing the man’s life had been literally in his hand. Perhaps this killer had perverted that feeling into something more. But the stabbing? After someone died, their blood couldn’t fuel magic. So why? Just for the fun of it?

“Charade theorized that this person used to do magic on small things. Animals, perhaps, or even children.” Azzan shuddered at the thought. “Perhaps on weaker people, the elderly or infirm. They might have been curious, or – well, she thinks they just enjoyed killing. There’s certainly enough evidence to support the idea that they enjoy killing _now_.” Azan looked down and chuckled. The sound held no humor. “It’s not really breakfast table conversation, is it? I wanted to wait for this.”

“I want to know,” Fenris said. He reached across the table to grab Hawke’s hand, deliberately keeping it from touching the letters again. “Why does she think this person has magic?”

“They never got caught,” he said. The words sounded so simple. They rang in his mind. “We thought it was perhaps because he’d moved here from somewhere else, but Charade’s connections didn’t turn up anything like these murders. So either they managed to contain themselves all this time, or they were better at subterfuge at the start of their madness than now, or…”

“Or they’ve been, what? In a Circle?”

Hawke grimaced. “I think it’s more likely that they’ve been using blood magic somewhere where it’s harder to find.”

Fenris stood. “You think it’s hard to find blood magic in a Circle?” He snorted. “It’s likely everywhere.”

Azzan’s gaze dropped. His back stiffened. He lowered his arms to his lap; even though Azzan tried to hide it, Fenris saw the way his fingers curled into trembling fists. “Either you see it everywhere, or you see it nowhere.” He breathed in deeply. That small smile that had graced his lips was suddenly gone. Of course it was; they were talking about the man who had hounded Hawke for years. They really should have waited until after the meal to speak about this. Hawke wasn’t going to touch his food now.

He didn’t quite understand what Hawke was saying about mages. Unless, with them all cooped up together, it could be difficult to tell which of them was practicing blood magic. Here in Kirkwall, however, he didn’t think that as likely. As much as he disliked how she treated Hawke, Meredith seemed more discerning than that.

“When I first saw the murders at the LaDeirn estate, I thought there might have been two people involved, it just seemed so different. That was why I’d thought it was a non-mage and a demon together. But she’s right that it could be a mage. One with a demon also wanting to call the shots.” Azzan ran a hand through his hair. His fingers tangled in his hairtie, as usual. He left them there, however, and stared dizzily down at the letters. Fenris made his way around the table. With one arm, he blocked Hawke’s line of sight. The man blinked up at him. Hawke’s mouth worked for several moments. Something horribly dark burned behind his eyes. “Another mage,” he said.

Hawke’s entire life had been burdened by magic, just as Fenris’ had been. In different ways, perhaps, but it was always there, haunting the edges of his life, writhing in its shadows. From the moment he’d been born with the curse of it to this moment. How many times had he lost something or someone to magic? This stalker. His mother. Even his siblings and home, lost to him by the magisters who had foolishly broken into the Fade and awoken the first Blight. The entire world suffered from magic. He touched Hawke’s cheek. “Perhaps he is a mage. But this changes nothing.”

“How couldn’t it?” Still, Azzan pressed close to Fenris’ touch. “He may have magic. All of this blood – it may not just be feeding the demon. It may be feeding him, as well.” He chuckled. “That awesome power of his – this might explain it.”

“Danarius fed on blood, as well,” he said. Azzan flinched. The idiot reached up to hold Fenris’ hand close. Fingers wrapped around his own as if to shield him. He stepped closer, breaching the invisible space between them until their chests bumped. “We defeated him. We defeated the man who killed your mother. This man will be no different.”

Azzan smiled. He searched for something in Fenris’ gaze. “I’m glad.” At Fenris’ furrowed brows, Azzan brushed his white hair with his free hand. “That you feel that way. The way you looked when you thought…” Hawke shook his head, silencing himself. It forced Fenris to have to imagine how his sentence would have ended. He could only imagine the man was talking about when Fenris had been about to meet his sister, when he’d been certain Danarius would be there, as well. He thought about that day often, about how lucky he’d been for Hawke to arrive that day. What had it looked like to Hawke?

“I suppose I looked desperate,” he said, thinking about it now.

“You looked scared,” Azzan said. He held Fenris’ hand to his cheek, even as he brushed his thumb along the bottom of Fenris’ jaw. “It made me scared, as well. I didn’t want you going outside without me. I wanted to make sure you were safe, that you could go back to standing strong.”

Hawke almost sounded ashamed of that fact. Why? Because he’d thought Fenris had been vulnerable? He _had_ been. Those moments, as he’d prepared himself for the worst, he’d thought only of having his best chance taken from him. From seeing Danarius and – but Danarius had been there, and so had Azzan, and now he was free.

Back then, he’d fought with that same desperation. He’d wanted Danarius dead, wanted freedom. But he’d also feared what it meant for Varric and Isabela and Azzan to be there with him, protecting him. How many times had Kirkwall’s slavers shouted to keep the pretty ones alive? For obvious reasons. And who was prettier than Isabela and Azzan? Who was more superfluous than Varric? The entire time, he’d wanted Danarius dead and his loved ones safe.

What had Azzan felt then? He opened his mouth, wanting to ask, only to stop. He didn’t have to ask, did he? Azzan had said it before Danarius had even shown his face. _We need to leave._ All he’d wanted was to protect Fenris. Back then, Azzan had already known, for years, how much he loved Fenris. There had been no hesitation in him. For Azzan, those he loved came first. If Fenris had ordered Azzan into the Fade, he would have gone without hesitation. If he’d ordered Azzan to use blood magic, the man would. He knew it like he knew the lines on his skin. Azzan loved him the most. That placed Fenris in a position of authority over the man.

That was why it was so important Hawke know that Fenris was his. Because Hawke had already handed himself over.

“Whether he be mage or man or beast,” Fenris said finally, “we won’t let him drive you into a corner any longer. We are stronger. We’ll prove it against this odd creature. Right?”

Azzan sucked in a shaky breath. “Right.” He blinked several times, then smiled. Fenris didn’t like it. It was one of those smiles that meant Azzan was pulling himself forcibly back together. If it weren’t for the topic under discussion, he wouldn’t have let him get away with it. “Let’s, ah, see what these other letters are, then, shall we?”

Fenris scowled. He’d been right to think the idiot wouldn’t be eating anything any time soon. He cursed himself. He shouldn’t have broken Azzan’s cheery mood.

Azzan picked up the letters and started opening them. Fenris turned back to his own food. Even though it looked tasty, the very smell of it made his stomach turn. Still. He went over to his plate and forced himself to eat, though he did so standing up. He was surprised to catch Azzan watching him at one point. The human managed a couple bites of his own, though his lips twisted in a grimace as he swallowed. He didn’t finish a third of his food, but at least he’d eaten something.

Orana entered the room just as Azzan made a surprised noise and ripped open another envelope. She looked over their plates, then grabbed Fenris’ and put it beneath Azzan’s. He felt the need to apologize to her for Azzan’s inability to eat her food. “It’s fine, mas – sir Fenris. This happens sometimes.” She balanced the plates in one hand and reached for Azzan’s glass. Fenris went to get it for her, only to find Azzan doing so already, his gaze still on the letter before him. Orana plucked it from Azzan’s fingers without hesitation. It held all the hallmarks of a ritual.

He stopped her simply by stepping beside her as she made to leave. He knew how well slaves had been trained by their masters; the very sign that she may be wanted made her halt and turn to him. “What do you mean?” he asked, dropping his voice. “This happens often?”

She smiled. “I no longer make breakfast on Wednesdays, due to the arrival of those letters. And sometimes the master receives news that makes him troubled, and thus unable to eat. I am prepared to help him through those times.” She waited a beat longer, then, taking his silence to mean acceptance, she hurried away.

Hawke didn’t eat breakfast when those letters arrived. For over three years, the man had felt such terror he had found himself unable to eat meals. Fenris stared at Hawke as the man reached the end of the letter and placed it back on the table. There was so much he’d never known. Never bothered to know. Maker, it had taken him years to even realize Hawke’s sense of humor. Now, suddenly he faced the fact that fear or stress caused Hawke to become unable to eat. What else happened to make Hawke stare at his food with that grimace he’d beheld before? How often had Fenris been the cause?

“Fenris,” Azzan said, and he moved to the man’s side. He was staring at the letter he’d put down.

Fenris did the same. He thought Azzan would continue talking, but as usual, the moment he began to read something, Azzan stopped everything to let him. He hesitated for a moment, then picked the thing up. No reprimands. Of course. Azzan would likely never reprimand him for anything. He looked back up at the man. No censure or worry or disgruntlement. Would he even see it if it existed? He looked back and read the letter. “This is from the Grand Enchanter.”

“Orsino,” Azzan agreed. “He needs my help.”

Everyone in Kirkwall needed Hawke’s help.

He wondered, though, watching Azzan’s face twist and turn, those lips quirking in a half-smile before those brows pulled low, what it meant to Hawke. He knew Hawke had been working on helping mages in Kirkwall ever since he’d come here from Ferelden. He’d hated the fact when he’d first met Hawke, had resigned himself to it sometime in the past few years. Now Hawke was getting the chance to do something for the Grand Enchanter. For him, this was a big step.

For Fenris, it was something else.

He believed the Circles were the best solution for the plague of magic. From all he’d seen in Kirkwall, he believed it even more strongly than before. But even though he believed mages needed to be watched, he also believed that, if Hawke were ever put in a place like Kirkwall’s Circle, he would do everything he could to break him out. Put simply, it was because Hawke didn’t deserve it. Anders, yes. Merrill? Very possibly, if only because she was too much of a fool to be trusted on her own. But Hawke?

How many times had Hawke said that the Circles weren’t the answer? For someone like him, born and raised in freedom, the idea of having it stripped from him was likely as anathema as it was to Fenris. There were those who deserved to have it taken away. But there were others, like Hawke, who worked hard every day to rise above what they’d been given. Who worked to become something _better_. If Hawke wanted to protect those rare souls, then Fenris could understand. Even though he hated the idea of working against the Circles, he hated more the idea of helping the Circles take Hawke away.

“What does he want?” he asked.

He watched as that same darkness returned. Shuttered. That was what that look was. Azzan was compartmentalizing his emotions, packing them in where Fenris couldn’t follow. “I don’t know. He just said there’s a situation in the Circle. He’s asked me to come help.”

Fenris read the letter and frowned. It was true. No details had been provided. Though Orsino did make a point to applaud Hawke for standing against Meredith in the courtyard. An insane, foolish risk, but one that spoke true to the man and his intentions. He’d only heard about the dispute between Hawke and Meredith, but from what he’d heard, Hawke had told the woman it was time to step down from leading Kirkwall. For once, he was in agreement. The more power she had, the more likely she was to bring Hawke in and damn the consequences. “Then I’ll come with you.”

Hawke’s mouth gaped slightly. His eyebrows shot up, breaking that careful look from before. “You will?”

He wanted to shake the man. “Of course.” He moved them both away from the dining room. Azzan let himself be led, until they stood in the front room. Azzan still wore his silken garments, the ones he always wore while at home. Fenris, on the other hand, already wore his armor. “Get dressed,” he said, laying one hand on Azzan’s arm. “We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”

Azzan nodded, his gaze roaming out around his home. He sighed. “I’ll bring your sword,” he said.

“Nonsense.” Fenris smirked. Azzan blinked at him. “As if I would miss an opportunity to see you naked.”

Azzan blushed. He nearly tripped on his way up the stairs. Fenris watched the sway of that ass and smirked again.

With this man, he’d gotten lucky in more ways than one.

* * *

As usual, they were given the runaround. Both Isabela and Varric had quickly offered to join them on what quickly became a monster of a favor for the Grand Enchanter. It had been annoying enough, chasing templars and mages both, seeing them all act aggressively for little reason, before they’d found out what was on the line.

Fenris saw what it cost Hawke to act reasonably when they finally hunted down the templars and mages working for freedom, only to find they’d taken the last of Hawke’s family.

Fenris snarled where he stood. Hawke had so little left. Even with his family broken and torn from him, still he fought for these very people. And this was how they repaid him?

How dare they.

Hawke handled it well. Only Fenris, and perhaps Isabela, standing on Hawke’s other side, could see the way his hands trembled quietly by his sides as he tried to talk the mages and templars down. With Ser Thrask at their head, Hawke’s assurance that he was fighting for mage rights was accepted. Thrask seemed almost unsurprised. He even apologized, as if to do so made kidnapping Hawke’s brother even remotely acceptable.

He’d been horrified enough to learn so many templars had chosen to side with the mages. And not just any mages, but even the ones Hawke had dealt with before, the ones like Grace, who were so full of righteous fury that they would consider even murder and torture a just act for their cause. He’d been ready to point that out himself when Grace decided to show it all on her own. With Thrask’s death went Azzan’s chance for a peaceful resolution – and, along with it, his chance to get his brother back safely.

As if what he was going through wasn’t enough. As if the weight he’d taken on wasn’t heavy enough. He’d already chosen to help these dangerous, ungrateful bastards, even though it meant taking on the burden of every person in Kirkwall, even moreso than when he’d fought the Arishok. How dare they do this to him. How dare this blood mage bitch pretend to be in such a horrible position because of Hawke. Hawke had _let her go._ Despite what kind of person she was, he’d tried to grant her her freedom. And when she didn’t get it, she attacked an innocent man while proclaiming her own innocence?

Hawke had said the man who had been stalking him all this time might be a mage. Looking on this woman as she called up her foul magic, he could believe it. He could believe that someone Hawke strove to protect would turn on him like this.

He wanted her dead.

The fury surprised him, considering how little she’d done to him. It felt _right_ to face down another blood mage. It sparked something inside him. He remembered how many of Danarius’ friends had chuckled over Danarius’ usage of him, how many had asked to have a night with him. All of them had used blood magic the same way Danarius had. None had considered others’ lives in any way other than how they could be used for more power or prestige. This woman would have thrived in Tevinter. She was just like them.

It wasn’t just her. There were others just like her, just as convinced of their own superiority. So many of them held those like Orana prisoner, even now. So many of them would see someone like Azzan, a mage powerful in his magic but unwilling to hurt others, and think him weak, or try to use him for their own ends. What would have happened to Azzan if he’d been born in Tevinter? Unlike Grace, he would not thrive. No matter where Azzan lived, he would never live a safe, happy life.

It infuriated him, that a woman like this had a safe haven in this world while Azzan ran and hid and faced death no matter where he went.

The feel of his blood being used to power the strength of another – it was almost nostalgic. He knew intimately the feeling of weakness as he was forced to fight, to cut down Qunari after Qunari, to grab the hearts of slaves even as Danarius and Hadriana used his blood with the slave’s own. But at the same time, this moment was so different from those. He could feel the cool breeze of Azzan’s magic touching deep inside him. The moment he felt his knees buckle from blood loss, that breeze grew to a crescendo, shoring him up in an instant.

This time, the blood mages weren’t his allies, but his enemies. His ally would never hurt him. Now, and forever more, he had someone by his side who would always put him first. His shelter. His harbor. His home.

He cut Grace down. Her eyes widened as she fell, her hands still reaching out for his blood. Even as she fell, the touch of Azzan’s magic wrapped him up once more. He felt fine. As if nothing had so much as touched him. As if he’d just woken. Refreshed. He turned to find Azzan standing beside Varric, who was in the middle of reloading. Isabela nearly seemed to dance back and forth before them, attacking the men Hawke had frozen in place with his glyph, only to chase those he blasted away. Her knives glittered in the sunlight.

Fenris ran to them, his sword gleaming like moonlight in his hands.

* * *

Even with everything done to him, Azzan tried to save the one left. The one who, as soon as he was granted a good enough reason, turned to blood magic as easily as anyone else. Still, Hawke’s brother was free and safe, though he showed little gratitude for Hawke’s intervention. Good to see the new armor hadn’t changed much in the way of his character.

By the end of it all, Fenris was feeling frustration pulling him apart in endless directions. He felt as if they’d been pulled all over Kirkwall for people who wouldn’t look at them twice when they didn’t need a favor. The only person to show proper gratitude was Orsino, and Fenris could see something like friendship blossoming between the two men. He hoped this one would be a friend Azzan could count on, instead of yet another person who hurt him.

They returned to Hawke’s home sweaty, weary, and exhausted. Hawke’s hand slipped on the door handle for a moment before he was able to jerk it open and stumble inside. Fenris was little better, bent almost at the waist as if his sword had doubled in weight. Azzan looked at him and managed half a grin. “We look a pair.”

Fenris looked Hawke up and down. He was uninjured, of course; any slight injuries Hawke hadn’t managed to heal during the battle had closed over time due to that aura of his. His robes had seen better days, however, blood and tears marring its form. Azzan looked down at himself and sighed. “Poor Orana.”

She would insist on being the one to clean it, of course. She was oddly stubborn about taking care of Hawke.

“For now,” he said, stepping into Hawke’s space despite the stink on both of them, “how about we get you out of those clothes?” He slid one gauntleted finger into Hawke’s collar and pulled him forward. Hawke’s eyes widened.

“All right.”

Fenris led them up the stairs, waving goodnight to Bodahn, who had waited for Hawke in the doorway. Orana looked up from the corner of the bedroom, where she’d been arranging a sword rack beside the bed. She hurriedly stood, bowed, and left the room, wishing them a good evening. Fenris stared at the rack for a moment before quietly placing his sword within it. Yet another thing Hawke had thought of for him.

He turned to find Hawke nearly throwing his robe off, barely managing to roll it up into some semblance of folded before dropping it on the floor. He made his way to the far table, on which Orana had placed a small basin of water. Azzan picked up the rag and started working it over his arms and chest. The sag to his shoulders told of his weariness.

Fenris started clicking at the links to his gauntlets. Azzan turned to him, his eyes half-lidded. He put the rag in the basin and went to him. “Let me.” His voice was nearly as soft as his hands as they traced the lines of Fenris’ armor, pulling at the ties until it slowly fell apart. He could _feel_ Azzan’s gaze on him, even before those fingers traced the lines of his shoulders and back. Azzan pulled his armor off piece by piece, his fingers infinitely careful as he peeled away the leather. He carried it with a strange reverence to where he’d dropped his robes, careful with them in ways Fenris couldn’t understand. Then he rinsed out the rag and brought it back to him.

Fenris watched Azzan as he worked to clean Fenris off. Even though Fenris was perfectly capable of the task, the set of Azzan’s shoulders settled as he worked. Fenris couldn’t find it in him to refuse the silent offer. It seemed to soothe something in Hawke to be able to do this for him. He rested a single hand on Hawke’s shoulder as the man dipped down to clean his chest and stomach.

The touch continued, along his back and even down his legs, before Hawke bothered using the rag for himself. All throughout, the touch that should have sparked need and desire merely brought forward the deepest of his feelings. He hadn’t known touch could be something like this. Something that gave and gave and never reached out to take. He’d never known touch could only spark a fire in his heart instead of in his body. By the time Hawke finished, he felt almost dizzy with emotion. He wanted to hold the man. Just hold him. And never let go.

He thought to show Azzan what the man had just shown him. But by the time he got his head out of the clouds, Hawke was already finished. The water was murky, the rag browned. Fenris pulled Hawke forward and kissed him. Their skin brushed, that gentle feeding sensation occurring once more as Hawke’s magic tuned in to Fenris’ markings. Azzan must have been too tired, because Fenris didn’t feel the usual sensation of cutting the link or thinning the feed as much as possible. It nearly burst between them. Azzan moaned into his mouth.

They made it to the bed, nearly falling into it. Azzan yanked the covers overtop the both of them as Fenris pecked at his lips. Their breaths mingled.

They were out cold the next moment.

* * *

_Hey, Fenris, did you know? How the albatross became king of the ocean skies?_

_It relies on the wind to carry it forward. It floats for days without needing to so much as flap its wings. Do you understand, Fenris? Most of us, we’re like the albatross when the seas are calm; they’re forced to lay on the water, unable to move forward. It’s only when the winds return that they can fly again._

_But you. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? How that sea breeze never leaves you. You’ve found your eternal wind. So why are you running from it?_

He opened his eyes to find Hawke’s already studying him. The man blushed, but didn’t stop softly brushing the white strands of hair from Fenris’ face, tucking them awkwardly behind his ears. Fenris shivered from the touch on the top of the lobe. “Good morning,” Azzan said, and smiled.

Fenris smiled back.

* * *

_You passed. I knew you would._

_I can’t stop thinking of you now. I hold no more doubt. We’ll be together soon._


End file.
